


By Any Other Name

by dev_chieftain



Category: Tiger & Bunny
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-14
Updated: 2011-08-14
Packaged: 2017-10-22 14:48:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/239213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dev_chieftain/pseuds/dev_chieftain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SPOILERS through episode 20.</p><p>Antonio winds down after a rough day pursuing a fugitive that eludes capture by heading to his favorite bar. While there, he ends up spending quality time with someone unexpected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Any Other Name

**Author's Note:**

> I know I should be posting the next chapter of Hey Bulldog but REALLY I had to write this because I am a bad, bad person.

The whole day he's felt kind of off. Kind of weird. Sluggish? Muzzy. When he got home last night he found a few pictures of himself and some guy he doesn't remember hanging out. He'd stared at them for a while, just feeling tired and unsure of why he was even awake, and eventually determined that the photographs were probably from his previous gig down at the railroad. Based on where they'd been taken, he'd known the guy when they were younger; kind of strange not to remember the name, but there was an honest look around the eyes, kind of painfully genuine. No wonder they didn't hang out anymore; doubtless Antonio had left the guy behind when he'd started his work as a Hero.

He'd turned the pictures over, sought out a label on the backs, but found them lacking. Not surprising, really. It wasn't precisely Antonio's purview to sign and date his life. He'd never liked the reminder of mortality and often wondered why people bothered to live by a calendar, ticking off the days until they died.

But then he'd seen the little scribbly scrawly footnote on the back of the oldest picture, in a flowing hand as unfamiliar as the man in the photograph. 'You're always welcome with us, Antonio.' And it had felt right. Like something, something to do with Tomoe--

Ah, right. Tomoe. That- girl from that other school. His stupid thugs, trying to- what? set him up with a date?- yeah, kidnapping girls. No wonder she hadn't been too impressed with him. She'd eventually died of some illness; he could remember a daughter somewhere at the funeral.

Hadn't seen the girl since. Hadn't known the father.

Head aching, he decides to hit the sack. The next morning he's feeling much more himself, though the muzzy lingering confusion hasn't quite lifted. He's been up, had breakfast and made it to the training room before the call goes out, and suddenly his world gets focused to a blaring red alarm.

 _Find the homicidal NEXT. Stop him by any means necessary. He is extremely dangerous, and volatile. He may have killed before. He will probably kill again._

And Antonio feels like he really is a bull, because it's like all he can feel is rage and all he can see is red, red, red. He suits up and, like everyone, gives Barnaby a sympathetic nod as they split up and head out to search city for the madman. Probably a stalker fan-- those are common enough-- who'd been trying to get closer to Barnaby by harming someone important to him. What's strange is that he went for someone so publicly unknown, so relatively invisible to the world at large. Must be a real sick bastard, killing an old lady like that.

Antonio charges out into the world on a mission hellbent to bring this Kaburagi guy to justice.

***

For a while, he'd thought he had their fugitive pinned down between two abandoned buildings near the center of town. It was alarmingly close to the studio, and in the brief instant they almost fought, Kaburagi had unnerved him by approaching him with a friendly hello. That'd all gone down a bit more embarrassingly than Antonio is happy to think. The long and short of it is the bastard's slippery and he made his way out of Antonio's grip long before back-up could arrive.

Yes, he'd gotten a lucky score on Kaburagi's shoulder. Yes, he'd put the fear of God in those smug brown eyes. But something about them had seemed weirdly familiar, and in a moment he'd had an overwhelmingly painful feeling throughout his whole head, and when he'd looked again the man was gone.

They were pretty sure now that this was a NEXT with the ability to affect the mind, somehow. How was not clear, but no one had been able to get close to him except Barnaby, and even Barnaby had had his share of bad luck trying to pin the guy down. With Sky High patrolling for the night, Fire Emblem keeping everyone up-to-date on his latest sweep for traces of blood from the wound Antonio had managed to inflict, and the younger heroes resting on stand-by in case they needed to be called in, should the fugitive be found, Antonio had taken the opportunity to go out for some dinner, maybe a beer.

Time to rest in his own way. Besides, he hadn't eaten since shortly after dawn, and he wasn't going to be any good in the middle of the night on little sleep and no food.

The moment he stepped into the bar, he felt several sets of eyes pass over him, though they quickly slid away, seeing that he was not with any company and he was not, despite his stature, any trouble. When he ordered his usual, the bartender looked at him askance, seemed about to ask him something, caught sight of his viciously unpleasant expression and seemed to think better of it.

Now he has a steak, a mug of dark, foamy ale, and the news to catch up on. He's occupied. At least, at first.

Something about the room is off, though, something that gets to him, after a few minutes. He glances around, trying to pinpoint what it is for a while. There's the usual crowd in for a Thursday night, plenty of folks but not so many of the younger party-crowd that like to come by on weekends.

In one dark corner, there's an extremely quiet, sullen looking drunk with a familiar look about him, and he's sucking on one finger, wincing. He's got a huge pile of peanut shells beside him, but it looks like the bartender's about to kick him out. Between his matted hair and shabby black coat, Antonio's not surprised. Unshaven, too. Ugh. What a mess.

And yet, with him sucking on his finger and plucking out a splinter, Antonio's eyes are drawn to his mouth. It's a very interesting sort of mouth.

So he goes over to that table, sets down his steak, and eyes the man (now rigid as if he expects to be carted off to the police for public drunkenness) who is eyeing him, trying to make sense of what he sees. Shitfaced, with a look like he's about to cry.

Honest eyes. Eyes sort of the same color as his ale, little darker, but that amber sort of in between that isn't quite brown. Not hard and cold like so many people in Stern Bild.

"Hey," says the man, in what is currently passing for his voice. It's a little better than a croak.

"Hello," Antonio answers, a little gruffly, and scratches his head thoughtfully before gesturing to the peanuts and empty glasses on the table. "What's this about, anyway? You hungry, or you just too cheap to pay for dinner?"

A lazy, smashed-beyond-logic crooked grin spreads over his new tablemate's face, and a terrible laugh finds its way out of him, shaking his shoulders and leaving him a little misty-eyed. "Right to the. Point. Mm. Yeah." He nods, and keeps nodding, then shakes his head, squinting at Antonio quietly. "Too cheap. Can't go home, you know."

"No?" Antonio isn't too surprised, considering, but the guy doesn't smell like he looks. Smells kind of like watercress and cucumber, actually. Fresh and nice. It's strange. "Why's that?"

"No-" And he makes a pained, confused expression that oddly feels a lot like Antonio's felt today. Maybe it's just a day for it. "Nobody remembers? It. I don' know. I dunno. I just. I dunno what happened." He laughs, but it sounds a bit raw and he stops himself. "Fuck, listen to me."

Kindly, Antonio smiles without humor and takes another bite of his dinner. "I think I am, actually."

" _You_ don't remember me," says the man, and Antonio looks up and can't stop looking. He remembers-- oh, so many fantasies, and weird wet dreams that feel like they weren't _dreams_ , and he can feel himself swallowing hard, he can feel the tic in his biceps of anticipation just as surely as the way his stomach gets tight. That's not just a sad drunk look.

That's a lot more. "No," Antonio agrees quietly, because he's really too old for this, no matter how much he's starting to think the guy doesn't look so bad under the rough and grime of the day. "I don't."

"Damn it," the man whispers, licking his lips and rubbing at his face as if that will clear away the drunk and stupid and leave him clearheaded enough to face the facts. "You- I-"

Thoughtfully, he pops another piece of steak into his mouth, then cuts off a small one, holding it up and offering it to this strange man with his smoldering eyes and his shaky voice and his _things_ that he's doing to Antonio. He stops falling apart long enough to look at Antonio like it's Antonio who's crazy, and then hesitantly reaches for the fork.

Antonio pulls it back slightly, lifting an eyebrow.

"Ah-ah." The hand falls back, the man turning his face away, eyes cast down and expression one of evident uncertainty. The mixed signals do merit some explanation, so as he moves the fork closer to those soft, hungry lips, Antonio grants it. "No hands."

At first there's a flare of anger, maybe even incredulity that he should be expected to eat in such a fashion, and Antonio is treated to the play of emotions across the drunk's incredibly expressive features. He seems to struggle with his pride and some genuine sense of hurt, as if Antonio is making a personal assault against him with this gesture. That slides aside as heat rises in his cheeks, and his stomach audibly growls. He licks his lips again, which leaves them shining with saliva, and sighs softly.

Shutting his eyes, he leans forward just slightly, adopting a subtly subservient posture and opening his mouth. Antonio presses forward, touching the dripping bite of steak to his lower lip, and watches in distracted fascination as the man's tongue flickers out, testing the dimensions of the meat before he moves forward just so, taking the fork into his mouth and biting down slowly, pulling back as he opens his eyes.

While he glares furiously up at Antonio through his eyelashes, Antonio can suddenly think of nothing he wants more than to have that mouth on something else. Which is a little strange; he's usually not quick to act on his libido, even if he's drunk. But then, usually he's out with Nathan and he takes Nathan pretty seriously. This is something else.

This is some crazy drunk who pulls back and savors that single bite of steak like he hasn't had a chance to eat all day. He licks his lips again and when Antonio offers him another bite, he doesn't seem to have the same trouble he did before with subduing his pride enough to lean in, taking each bite with delicate care. Every time he meets Antonio's eyes, there's that catch again, that jump in Antonio's arms, that half-realized urge to just grab this stranger up right now, slam him into the wall and kiss him so deeply he melts.

It's sounding more and more like a good idea. He drinks his whole mug in one shot, and orders another two- one for each of them- watching the subtle play of surprise and pleasure and uncertainty and just a touch of fear that plays across that stubbly face. Antonio starts to alternate bites between the two of them, and then leads the man to him, this time placing the bite on his own lips, holding it there with just his teeth, glaring in challenge at the man across from him as their drinks arrive. They wait in silence and tension, the bartender bustling off to the next table without much further thought to either of them.

Slowly, the man stands from his chair, half walking, half crawling over to sit in Antonio's lap, leaning in with infinite caution and patience. He settles, light and small but lithe, with his legs hooked around Antonio's, their chests nearly pressed together, one hand on the table for balance, the other hovering as if he's not sure what to do with it at his side.

He takes the bite of meat, pulling back immediately, but Antonio catches his free wrist, slings an arm around his back, and drags him in until their noses are touching. Gulping, he swallows the steak, and when he starts to ask 'what's this about?', Antonio presses forward and tilts his head just so and drinks in the startled gasp he gets in answer.

The body in his embrace goes rigid against him, jerking once in Antonio's lap before the man seems to lose whatever inhibition was keeping him in check. He makes the most goddamn sensual little noises, as Antonio slides his hand up the man's back and pushes the kiss deeper. Antonio tastes his own dinner in this stranger's mouth, and delves deep, feels the man sucking on his tongue and groans in surprise. He'd been hoping he wasn't misinterpreting those searing looks, but to be welcomed is always such a pleasure in any relationship, no matter how-- situational.

When they break apart, he realizes his hands have migrated to the man's waist, which he is gripping tightly enough to hurt (judging from that pained expression), that they'll draw a lot of attention neither of them wants if they keep at this in a bar, that they've finished his steak anyway, and most importantly, that he's rock hard.

"Drink your beer," he orders the stranger, easing up his grip and letting the man free from his lap for the moment. "Don't suppose you'd be interested in taking this further in the restroom, would you?"

He's a little surprised at himself. He hasn't got an excuse: he's hardly as drunk as this guy, and whether he's actually involved with Nathan right now, they have something and he ought to be careful not to mess it up. Something about this, though, it doesn't feel like he'd be cheating. It feels like Nathan would not only understand, but already knows. From the look on the stranger's face, he's not sure how he feels about it either. Conflicted, though he doesn't seem to have any qualms about downing the glass of beer Antonio's ordered for him, slugging it back as quickly as he can, throat bobbing in a way that takes Antonio's brain all sorts of places that aren't helping him want to stop.

There it is again, that weird hurt, that hesitation that makes it seem like Antonio ought to maybe know something, or recognize something or in this case, someone. The guy shakes his head slowly, then summons another of those crooked, utterly wasted smiles. It trembles, but it holds. "Buy-" he hiccups, giggles as if in a panic, and tries to continue. "Buy me a steak, and you got yourself a deal."

It's not that he misses the desperate, frustrated look that lingers in this guy's eyes, but Antonio waits, figuring that if it's important it'll get said aloud. Nothing comes. Whatever thoughts he's having, they seem to be personal, and Antonio doesn't even know the guy, so he doesn't try to push, doesn't worry about it too much. He must be feeling the beer a little, because he's wiping foam off of his lip and halfway through his own glass before he realizes he didn't answer. He nods and starts to stand. His head doesn't spin, or anything, but as they make their way through the crowd to the back, he feels strangely inclined to keep his newfound companion close at hand, close enough to touch as they're working their way through the press of other bodies. He finds a nipple before he gets his hands pushed away, and the other man sends him a pleading look that says _wait._

So he does.

But the second they're in the bathroom and he's sure it's deserted Antonio turns to pounce the guy. He's surprised but pleased to find himself pounced instead, driven by an exceptionally muscular and wiry body back into the wall beside one of the open stalls.

The bathroom here is lit by one exposed fluorescent bulb that's so bright it bleaches the color out of everything, and Antonio finds himself transfixed as this stranger presses up into him, stubbornly pushing up his shirt until Antonio's chest hair is caught in the fingers of his left hand, his right lingering at Antonio's hip while he leans in, sucking on Antonio's nipple and licking the surrounding skin as if he's enjoying the taste of salt and sweat.

He looks wild, a little crazy, maybe, but under the ragged, messy hair, beyond the light stubble dotting his face and the sleepless bags under his eyes, he's all muscle and power, he's all thunder and pure unfiltered sexual desire in those raw, honest eyes. He watches Antonio as he traces a path down Antonio's chest, along his ribs and abs and past his stomach.

By the time Antonio comes out of his fugue, the man is kneeling before him, working at his belt with shaking hands and breathing warm and wet against his crotch. All Antonio can really do is make a desperate grab for something to hold onto. There's a bar along the outer wall of the stall, probably meant for handicapped people or something, he's not sure, but that's only enough for his left hand. His right sinks down into that tangled dark spiky hair, eliciting a moan that snakes down to Antonio's toes. Whoever this man is, he _wants_ so openly it's making Antonio chafe at his pants. He doesn't pull down until the man has finally gotten the belt undone, ripped the zipper down and peeled away the leather keeping him from his objective. Antonio's fingers tighten, dragging him in towards the massive obstacle he's set for himself, and he moans again, this time plying his tongue up along the underside of Antonio's cock, starting at the sweaty, hairy base and dragging all the way up to the tip.

His breath comes short and sharp, hard gasps that make Antonio's knees feel shaky just thinking about letting him continue. He lifts his hands, the left one flashing with a wedding ring that seems terribly ironic, considering the situation, and grabs onto Antonio's hips, hanging on as if for dear life. When he finally drives his tongue along the underside of the glans, Antonio growls, pushing him down half an inch and forcing his mouth wide over the head.

Those strangely intense eyes flicker up at Antonio, catch him looking, and stay turned up, even as the man proceeds to suck his way down the first inch of Antonio's cock. His tongue is clever and keeps busy, sliding along the underside of the glans in maddeningly gentle strokes, but his lips shine with saliva and when he finally starts to press down deeper, Antonio's hand clenches tight in his hair. With a hiss, Antonio licks his own lips, watching almost helplessly.

Down, almost halfway, and up again, though Antonio gets the distinct impression this guy could take him all the way in if he really wanted to. He seems content to play, however, pulling back to the head and breathing on it, licking the slit of precum. He sucks at just that, then dives back down, bobbing his head along the tip of Antonio's erection until having that slight suction and that furiously busy tongue is far too annoying to just let the man do as he will anymore.

Antonio snarls, " _Fuck_ ," and brings his other hand down, pulling the man in closer and grinding his hips forward in the same motion, pushing that tongue back and down, driving so deep that he can feel the tip of his erection hit the back of the man's throat. He watches his dick disappear, the stranger's nose tickling at his pubic hair, and somehow is so relieved to see that that he just holds the man there for a breath, two, amazed at the feeling of that slow suction, of that voice buzzing along the whole of his dick. There's no struggle; as soon as he realizes it might be hard to breathe he lets up, releasing the man entirely and bracing his hands against the wall.

Seemingly unfazed, the stranger simply resumes his task after pulling back far enough to gasp in a few grateful lungs of air. His eyes glimmer with something a little like lust or sorrow, which are things that shouldn't look similar, but it's hard to tell right now. Antonio has trouble keeping track of all the details, as he starts to get flushed and very focused on just the feeling of that tongue dancing along the head of his cock, teasing and tormenting until he's sagging against the wall, his legs shaking with the effort of keeping himself up when he just wants to go boneless.

He wants to come more than he's wanted anything in a long time. He wants to come _in this mouth_ , looking into those wary amber eyes that seem almost like they know him. And by the time he starts to wonder why this weird guy would know him, he's too busy about to come for anything but a startled grunt as he bites the inside of his cheek and tries to hold back. His balls go tight and a hot flash passes over his skin, but he growls a warning, trying to be decent. "Gonna cum."

Nodding almost imperceptibly, the man sucking him off just sucks harder, diving deep again in a few sudden, shocking, delicious strokes that are almost more pleasure than he can handle. He shouts, watching in something close to shock as the man pushes all the way back down, until Antonio is coming right down his throat. It works furiously, just as before with the beer, trying to swallow him down-- and the sensation is-- indescribable, but it's like he could keep coming forever and when it passes Antonio feels faint and slides down the wall to sit on the floor, still trying to catch his breath.

The man drags the back of one hand along his mouth like it's nothing, swallowing one last time before flashing a confident smile. His swollen lips still shine, and Antonio reaches out for him, pulling him close to kiss him. He's strangely passive in Antonio's arms, letting his mouth fall open to explore when Antonio presses in, docilely waiting for Antonio to finish and closing his eyes when Antonio nuzzles his neck, breathing that cucumbers and watercress scent with a deep feeling of being out of place. He tastes like semen. He looks like hell, which is somehow intoxicating. In a way, Antonio almost wants to take him home and ask Nathan if they can keep him.

Really, Antonio can't help wondering what his story is. "Fuck," Antonio mutters again, still not quite sure he can feel his toes, let alone find the coordination to stand. "You're good at that."

For a moment, he almost thinks the stranger is going to tell him everything. He has that _look._ Then he smiles that weird inebriated smile again, and says, "Just hungry."


End file.
